


Day by Day

by KatieBug1998



Series: Supernatural One-Shots, Sick Fics, Injured Fics, and Hurt/Comfort [28]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Broken Bones, Concerned Sam, Emergency room, Flu, Gen, Hospital, Hospitalization, Pneumonia, Secrets, Sick Dean Winchester, broken ribs, er - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieBug1998/pseuds/KatieBug1998
Summary: It sucks a little bit when Dean is injured from a hunt and sick with the flu, but it's a lot worse when the flu becomes something worse.





	Day by Day

DAY ONE:

It's not a pretty sight. Dean observes himself in the mirror, looking at the cuts on his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the fever spots on his cheeks.

He looks down at his torso. The left side is colored bright red which he knows will turn into a huge, ugly bruise by the morning. He's hoping his ribs aren't broken, but there's only one way to check. Well, actually, there's more than one. Most people's choice would be to go to the hospital and get x-rays, but not Dean Winchester.

He starts at where his sternum and ribs connect. He presses there, causing himself to curse lightly, and walks his fingers slowly to the left. He rubs the bones in circles with the tips of his fingers at a few places where he thinks they might be cracked. By the end, he's fairly certain they're cracked or broken in at least two places. Not that it matters. Like always, he'll keep hunting and lie to Sam about how he feels.

Dean's getting more tired by the minute, so he decides it's time to shower. He usually takes steaming hot showers, but tonight he turns the taps so the water is only lukewarm. He gets in and just stands under the water for a few minutes, letting it wash away the sweat and blood and cool down his feverish skin.

After about twenty minutes in the shower, Dean feels marginally better. He gets out and carefully dries himself off, patting the cuts on his face dry with the towel and moving cautiously so as not to jar his ribs. He puts on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to hide his bruised ribs from his little brother.

Despite feeling like shit and being plain exhausted, Dean exits the bathroom like nothing's wrong and heads to the table where the food is. He's just starting to unwrap his burger when Sam smacks his hand. "What the hell, man?" Sam holds out a thermometer. "Back off." Sam sighs as Dean unwraps his burger and starts eating.

"At least take these." Sam shakes a bottle of tylenol.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Dean says.

"Your funeral." 

After a few minutes silence, Sam asks, "You sure those aren't broken?" He points at Dean's left hand.

"I think I know what broken fingers feel like, Sammy."

"Shut up. How's you head?"

"Just some scratches."

"Whatever."

DAY TWO:

Next morning rolls around and Dean feels ten times worse. His ribs are killing him. It feels like his head is going to explode. His whole body aches.

Dean groans.

"I was gonna ask how you're feeling," Sam says from the kitchen, "but that answers my question."

"I'm fine." Then he sneezes, making pain shoot through his ribs and head. Something lands beside him on the bed – a box of tissues. Dean blows his nose and leaves the tissue on the bed next to him, not bothering to throw it into a trashcan.

"I wonder how many other people use the word 'fine' in the same way you do," Sam muses.

"Shut up." Dean leans back into his pillow and stares blankly at the ceiling.

Sam appears in Deans line of sight, looking down at him. "Your head's bleeding," he remarks.

Dean lifts a hand carefully to touch the cuts on his temple. Sure enough, there's blood on the tips of his fingers; the wounds must've reopened during the night. "So it is."

"You put any antiseptic or anything on that last night?" Dean rubs his fingers together, spreading the blood around them. "That's a no." As Sam walks away, Dean slowly sits up, minding his ribs, he sets up two pillows behind him and leans back against them. He blows his nose again.

This sucks.

His eyes follow Sam as he finds a washcloth in the tiny linen closet, then runs it under warm water in the kitchen and proceeds to wring it out. Sam crosses the small room and sits on the bed next to Dean. "I can do it myself," Dean grumbles.

"Just shut up." Sam presses the washcloth lightly against the cuts. Dean winces slightly. Sam continues until that part of the washcloth is covered in blood. "Head wounds sure do bleed a lot," Sam comments. He flips the washcloth to the side not covered in blood and moves to the cuts high on Dean's cheek, just below his eye.

When he's done, Sam goes into the "kitchen" and leaves the bloodied washcloth on the counter. He turns and leans against the counter. "You get any sleep last night?"

Dean sniffs. "Nah, but it's no big deal."

"I know you don't care, but I bought cold medicine and stuff if/when you want it."

Dean's too tired to think of a sarcastic remark, so he just asks, "We got anything for breakfast?" even though he's not really hungry.

"Yeah, some cereal." Sam gets out two bowls, two spoons, a box of Cheerios, and milk, setting it all on the table.

Dean gets up and, holy _fuck_ , his whole body hurts but he ignores it.

He eats half a bowl of cereal before the nausea is too much and he feels dangerously close to throwing up. He drops the spoon in the bowl. "I'm gonna take a shower."

Sam looks up at him as Dean as he stands. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says, annoyed.

DAY FIVE:

Dean's practically incapacitated. He hasn't been able to sleep. Hardly eaten, hardly had anything to drink.

From his seat at the table, Sam says, "Will you please just let me take you to the doctor already?"

"No," Dean says in a gruff voice.

Sam looks up at the ceiling in exasperation. "Why not?"

"Because I'm the oldest and I said so."

"Sometimes I really hate you."

DAY SIX:

Around ten in the morning, Sam gets a call.

"I have to go," he says quickly. He grabs his duffle and starts shoving clothes in. "Hunter, couple hours away, needs help. I'll be back as soon as I can." He grabs the keys  then leaves, slamming the door behind him, but making sure to lock it.

"Okay," Dean says to himself.

Some amount of hours later, Sam calls Dean. "I found Paul. He was unconscious, in the lair but he's fine. They're gone now, so we have to find them. I don't know how long this'll take. You okay?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "I'm fine."

DAY SEVEN:

Sam calls again, checking in. Again. Dean tells him he's fine. Again.

In truth, he hasn't gotten out of bed at all. Hasn't had anything to eat or drink. Nauseous. Headache. Muscle aches. His fever's gotten higher.

Dean's good at a lot of things, hunting, hustling pool, but self-care? Not one of 'em.

Now, he has a cough. It's not like the one before. It rattles deep in his chest and it's hurts, making the pain in his ribs double.

DAY NINE:

The cough is now accompanied by a wheeze.

DAY TWELVE:

Sam finally comes back to the motel to find Dean coughing up phlegm into a trashcan beside the bed. "Dean?" he asks cautiously.

Dean leverages himself back onto the bed, leaning back against the pillows. He smiles weakly. "Sammy, how'd the hunt go?"

"Damn it, Dean." Sam walks over to him and puts the back of his hand to his brother's forehead. "You're burning up." Dean can see the cogs turning in Sam's brain, analyzing Dean's condition, factoring everything in. "Okay, I'm taking you to the hospital."

DAY THIRTEEN (two a.m.):

A doctor finally makes his way Dean's bed. He takes Dean's chart off the end of the bed. "Fever of 104.3. High blood pressure. Low O2 levels. Flu symptoms followed by a productive cough." He puts the chart down and looks up at Dean. "I'll need a chest x-ray and blood work to confirm, but it sounds like you have pneumonia."

Sam bites his tongue; he's not a doctor but he was pretty sure of that the second he got back to the motel.

"So what else has been going on?" the doctor asks. 

"It's all in the chart," Dean says. He's not so much in the mood for talking.

"Still, I like to hear it from the patient." He stands there, waiting.

"Uh. Got sick about two weeks ago. Flu."

"But you didn't go to the doctor?" Dean shakes his head. "Why not?"

"We only go to the doctor for important stuff. Flu's not a big deal." Dean shrugs.

"But you started getting worse," the doctor prompts.

"Yeah." Dean clears his throat and coughs a couple times. "A week later, I started coughing and it's been getting harder for me to breathe," he admits.

"Can you list your symptoms over the last two weeks?"

Dean looks at his little brother. Sam can tell how much talking takes out of Dean just by how often he has to pause to take breaths. "Um, it started out with a headache and a fever. I think there was also lack of appetite, nausea, and muscle aches. He was coughing; it was normal for the first week, but then it got worse."

"Was it productive?"

Dean looks at Sam in confusion. "Yes."

"Color?"

"Yellowish," Sam answers. The doctor nods. "Then, after that, like Dean said, it started getting harder for him to breathe – and he's been wheezing."

"There's no record of a temperature other than the one the triage nurse had."

It's not a question but Sam answers anyway. "He wouldn't let me take it. My brother is," Sam glances at Dean who only scowls slightly, "stubborn."

After that, Dr. Schwartz asks Dean about his personal medical history. Dean has to lie about that because if the doctor knew the true number of injuries Dean has had over the years... well, that could be problematic.

After what feels like an hour long interrogation, they move on to the physical exam, most of which ends up being Dr. Schwartz listening to Dean's lungs.

Finally finished, Dr. Schwartz says, "I'm almost positive you have pneumonia, but I want to get a chest x-ray and blood work to confirm that and make sure there are no complications."

"Is that really necessary?" Dean asks.

"I like to cover all my bases." The doctor smiles at both of them. "I'll see you later," he says, the leaves.

Sam leans forward in the chair. "Relax, man. Let these people do their jobs; they know what they're doing."

"Don't try to patronize me, Sam."

"I'm not –"

"It's not that; it's the money, or lack of it."

"Don't worry about that."

"Yeah, I'll try that."

Sam reigns in his bitchface. "Whatever." You have to pick your battles, he reminds himself.

Sam leaned back in his seat, rubbing his eyes. "I fucking hate hospitals."

"Maybe you should go back to the motel, get some sleep."

Sam laughs lightly. "Right."

"When was the last time you slept?"

"When was the last time _you_ slept?"

"Touché."

• • •

An hour or two after the tests, the doctor finds the brothers. Right to the point, he says, "So, you do, in fact, have pneumonia." He holds up an x-ray, pointing to two clouds of white. "This right here is the fluid in your lungs." He points to a few places on the x-ray. "And these are where your ribs are broken." 

"What?" Sam turns to Dean. "You had broken ribs and didn't tell me?" he asks angrily. He takes a deep breath and walks a few steps, turning his back on Dean.

Dr. Schwartz raises an eyebrow at Dean. He shrugs. "I got mugged a few weeks ago, around the time I got sick, and a couple of the guys kicked me."

"Did you sustain any other injuries?"

"No."

"And you wouldn't be lying about that, would you?"

Sam snorts. "Just some cuts on my face and my hand was messed up." He flexes his left hand. "But it's fine now. I didn't think it was a big deal."

"Minor injuries like that aren't, but the broken ribs might've played a part in you contracting pneumonia. Upper respiratory infections like the flu can sometimes lead to pneumonia, but the chances of the flu turning to that are greatly increased if you can't breath deeply due to a thing like broken ribs."

Sam crosses his arms. "So what now?"

"Based on the results of the tests, I want to keep Dean here for one, maybe two, days."

Dean pushes himself up to sit on the bed. He starts to protest, but Sam glares at him so he shuts up. Dean starts coughing and Sam hands him a tissue. When he's done, the doctor speaks. "We'll get you back to a room and get you started on oxygen therapy and IV antibiotics."

"Oxygen therapy?" Dean asks. That sounds expensive.

"It just means we'll administer oxygen through a nasal cannula; your oxygen levels are too low." Dean nods. "The IV antibiotics will make you feel better faster than oral ones and they'll bring your fever down faster. Once your fever is low enough, which should take between 24 and 48 hours, you can go home and continue with oral medication. I also need to start you on IV fluids; your labs showed that you're deficient in electrolytes – dehydrated. That's really all you'll need. You can be out within a day or two."

"That's it?" Sam asks.

Dr. Schwartz nods, smiling reassuringly. "That's it."

• • •

Dean hates this. Like, really hates it. He feels trapped, pinned down. Stuck in a bed with a needle in his hand and a plastic tube under his nose going behind his ears. Not to mention he doesn't have a weapon on him. And there's only one exit out of the room; they're on the fourth floor so the window doesn't count.

He can't turn off soldier-mode. Always vigilant, even when unconscious. It's why he keeps a knife under his pillow which he doesn't have with him now. Yes, he knows the chance of something being in the hospital is pretty low, but still.

Dean starts pulling a little at the nasal cannula again.

"Stop messing with that," Sam admonishes.

"I hate this thing," Dean mutters.

"I know, Dean, but you can't take it off. It's helping you breathe."

"I can breathe on my own."

Sam sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "You know what I mean." Dean starts gently pulling at the tape around his IV. "Man, would you just let them give you pain meds, for God's sake? You've been walking around with broken ribs for two weeks and then you got pneumonia. I'm surprised you haven't punctured a lung."

"Sam," Dean begins.

"Dean, I know that has to hurt. I've had broken ribs before and I can't imagine what that plus pneumonia must feel like. Take the damn meds. You've hardly slept in two weeks. And you're annoying the hell out of me," Sam jokes. He watches Dean's eyes scan the room yet again. He always gets more paranoid when he's sleep deprived. "Listen." He leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees. "I can keep watch while you sleep, okay? Make sure nothing shady's going on."

Dean looks doubtful. He hates being on painkillers, but he hates hospitals more, and if taking the meds means he doesn't really have to "be" in the hospital, fine.

So, Sam calls in a nurse who administers a dose then says to call her if anything happens. Ten minutes go by, and _nothing_ happens, which concerns Sam more.

The nurse is timely; she comes in less than a minute after Sam presses the call button. "What seems to be the problem?" She starts checking all the monitors beside Dean's bed and then the IV bags.

"You gave my brother something ten minutes ago and nothing's happened. He hasn't felt any pain relief or anything."

She smiles brightly at Sam. "That's fine. Some people just have a higher tolerance than others. I'll give him more." Sam wonders if it's that he has a higher tolerance or if it's just that Dean is too stubborn to go under. 

• • •

A few hours later, Dean's voice wakes Sam up. "You said you'd keep watch." He starts coughing again and Sam hands him the pink, kidney shaped bowl with tissues on the bottom. He coughs up thick, yellow whatever. Sam takes it when he's done. "This is disgusting."

"Maybe if you hadn't waited," Sam starts. 

"What do you want to hear, huh?" Dean looks at him with tired eyes. "That you were right? Fine. You were right. Will you please shut up now?" He closes his eyes for a minute. "If you're gonna fall asleep at my bedside, just go back to the hotel."

A nurse comes in then. "How are you feeling, Dean." 

He grins. "Like a million bucks." 

"Now, why don't I believe you?" She smiles warmly. "I'm just here to check your vitals and then I'll be out of your hair." She looks at the younger brother. "How are you, Sam?" She wraps a blood pressure cuff around Dean's arm. "You look tired. Can I get you anything? Coffee?"

"I keep telling him to go back to our hotel and get some sleep, but he won't listen," Dean says. 

She puts a thermometer in Dean's mouth. "That might be a good idea." She puts the stethoscope in her ears and under the cuff. After a minute, she says, "Blood pressure's a little high, but that's to be expected with pneumonia." The thermometer beeps and she takes it out. "103.8. Still high but better." She smiles up at Sam again. "Your brother's in good hands. He'll be fine on his own for a few hours. I'll give him something more for the pain so he can sleep too."

Sam stands. "Fine, but only for a few hours."

• • •

When Sam gets back, Dean is poking at some oatmeal with a plastic spoon. Sam sits in the chair next to Dean. He observes his older brother. He still looks exhausted and he hasn't eaten anything on the tray in front of him. 

Dean looks up from the oatmeal to his brother. "Can you believe this? This shit is disgusting." He pushes the tray away. 

Sam leans over and pushes the tray back to Dean. "If you don't eat, they'll make you stay here even longer."

"Fine." Dean takes a tiny spoonful and eats it. "I can't believe people eat this. How did you sleep?" he asks Sam.

"Better than you I'll bet." He leans back, putting his feet up on the bed. 

"The drugs don't last long but at least I slept at all." He takes another bite. "I don't want anymore drugs. I don't like how fuzzy it makes me feel."

Sam had expected as much. "Whatever."

• • •

The doctor, Dr. Schwartz, meets up with them again later. "Doc, how soon can I get out of here?"

The doctor looks at the chart. "Not yet, I'm afraid. Your vitals haven't improved much. I hear you haven't been eating much either."

"Do you blame me? Have you seen the food here?" 

"Dean," Sam says. 

Dr. Schwartz laughs lightly. "No, I don't blame you, but you do need to eat. You'll get out of here faster if you do."

"Yeah, all right."

"How's your pain," the doctor asks. 

"Not bad. Like a three."

The doctor looks doubtful. He takes the stethoscope from around his neck. He has Dean sit up to listen to his lungs from the back. Sam doesn't miss the wince on Dean's face when he sits up. He can still hear the wheeze as Dean (attempts) to take a deep breath. 

DAY 14 (4:00 p.m.):

The doctor hands Dean a clipboard. "Discharge paper."

"Finally." Dean takes them and signs them, handing them back.

He gives Dean a slip of paper, a prescription. "Take these until they're all gone. Don't stop once you start feeling better." To Sam, he says, "Monitor his temp. Give him Tylenol to keep it low. If it gets higher than 102, I want you to come back here. If it gets harder for him to breathe again, if the wheezing continues or gets worse, come back. Make sure he eats and drinks."

"I can try," Sam says. 

• • •

It's the first night Dean actually sleeps well. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll probably end up adding more to this later and fill in the blanks, but I really wanted to publish something before I start school


End file.
